


Bloom

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Backstory, Closeted Character, Gen, Heteronormativity, Other, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 14:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7175906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was never any moment of realization, no thunderclap from the heavens or dramatic cue that told Renly his interests would never lie with women. It was simply something he <i>was</i>, as inherent to his being as the color of his eyes or the timbre of his voice. He may not always have acknowledged it even in his own mind, but he'd always known what he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> For the valar-morekinks kinkmeme prompt: Reny/Any, Renly has his first crush and/or kiss, before he meets Loras.
> 
> This probably isn't what the OP intended, but it's what came to mind.

It's all wrong. Renly supposes he knew it would be. He hadn't even kissed her out of his own desire, but in some misguided effort to shut Robert's endlessy barking trap.

"Never seen a Baratheon to be such a late blooming rose," he'd scoffed since Renly was only a boy of ten and three. "I'll be a dead man before your stones finally drop and you show an interest in women."

As in many things, Robert was a bit wrong and a bit right.

There was never any moment of realization, no thunderclap from the heavens or dramatic cue that told Renly his interests would never lie with women. It was simply something he _was_ , as inherent to his being as the color of his eyes or the timbre of his voice. He may not always have acknowledged it even in his own mind, but he'd always known what he was.

It makes the self-betrayal of kissing her more keen.

She's some Lord's second daughter; Renly always gets the second daughters. If he stood back and examined her as if she were a breeding horse or a piece of art he was considering hanging in his bedchamber, he could agree most affably that she's a fine bit of womanhood, comely and sweet-faced and certainly eager, but he feels nothing when he presses his lips to hers, not even the dull warmth of pleasant human contact. She's soft where he wants hardness, smooth where he wants to feel something rough. There is no stubble upon her chin to scrape his own raw the way he craves, no muscles straining against his own, no scent of sweat and leather tucked behind her ears or in the crook of her neck. She smells like oils and soap. Clean. Pleasant. Unappealing.

He tries to imagine she's not what she is. After all, he's the one who initiated this, tugging her by the hand and leading her to a dark corner of the gardens, pulling her into his arms to carry out this farce. To prove that he's as much a man as Robert. Or perhaps to prove, once and for all, that he isn't; that he's a different sort of man entirely. It seems unfair that he should use her for such a thing only to leave her disappointed. But try as he might, nothing in him will be roused, not even the thought of doing this with one of the bucks he'd watched over her should as they danced earlier in the evening.

She makes a soft sound of protest when he pulls away and kisses her forehead, hands gripping her upper arms to keep her from moving towards him again, or asking what he knows now he couldn't ever give. He doesn't remember her name. Sela or Senna, or who knows, maybe something entirely different.

"Sweetling," he says instead, his lips moving against her too smooth forehead, the wisps escaping her hairnet ticking his nose. "We'll be missed."

"So let us be missed," she suggests coyly. Renly strengthens his grip on her arms. A man might fight him. A man might push against that grip. He might overpower Renly's feigned attempt at honor, crowding him back against the rough stone wall and kissing him hard enough to bruise. Finally, a thought that brings a thrill.

"Another time," he tells her. His smile is warm. Warmth he can feel for her, at least.

If only she had a brother.


End file.
